Look at the berries

Upton Cottage, Loftus, 12/09/16

Lately I’ve been fretful

and regretful

of all the poems I’ve not written

all the words

that came at stupid times

when I was unprepared

and too tetchy

to pick up a pen

and pin them down.

It’s brought a heaviness

and a weariness

that’s not helped to write

anything new.

Like a clinging

unresolved grief

stuck

in what could have been.

Only on long walks

thoughts have come flying

when I’ve not been trying

to work them up.

Passing hedgerows

of heavy fruit

and fields of flagging corn

the words buzz and bumble

And I urge my brain

to retain them.

But when I’m home

with pen in hand

I see that

what I’ve caught

is just a tame reflection

of the wildness

that once was,

not that long ago.

Today though, it occurs

That all those words

Are not a waste.

Nature isn’t bothered

If her flowers aren’t all seen

And that most of the berries

Will go to seed….